


Darkness of My Mind

by ChillieBean



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Heavy Angst, Heavy Drinking, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Suicidal Ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 16:14:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19113229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChillieBean/pseuds/ChillieBean
Summary: The attack on the base took everything. Data. Files. Athena. Everyone more or less made it out unscathed, a few cuts and bruises, broken bones.All except one.





	Darkness of My Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [Trivium - Darkness of My Mind](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L5NaEiBhN68)
> 
>  
> 
> **PLEASE READ THE TAGS BEFORE CONTINUING**

A wreath built of withered roses.

His old, worn hair scarf.

His ring.

That’s all he has left.

The attack on the base took everything. Data. Files. Athena. Everyone more or less made it out unscathed, a few cuts and bruises, broken bones.

All except one.

He wasn’t _supposed_ to be there. _They_ weren’t supposed to be there. It’s their anniversary today, they should be holidaying in The Bahamas right now, soaking up the sun, getting delightfully drunk at an obscenely early hour of the day.

He’s not supposed to be on the other side of the world, absent—six days and counting—the love of his life.

Taking a shaky breath, he downs the rest of the cheap sake he used to drink to get drunk, embracing the burn in his throat. They were ordered to stay; chatter seemed to indicate that Talon was planning an attack _somewhere_ in Europe. Winston needed all hands on deck, and they happily obliged. It was their duty, after all.

Little did they know that the attack would be on the Watchpoint itself. He doesn’t blame anyone; not Winston, not Angie, not Hanzo, not himself. There was nothing that could have been done with the kind of wound Hanzo sustained, even with the caduceus technology.

Jesse closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath, pushing the wave of sorrow back. Hanzo wouldn’t want Jesse mourning him. They discussed it, time and time again given how dangerous missions often were.

 _Drink, remember the good times_ , Hanzo used to say. _I am not worth any tears._

Jesse cannot help but smile, pouring himself more sake from the carton. He holds his glass up in silent toast, imagining Hanzo in some afterlife toasting him from the other side, before downing the entire glass.

No one’s explicitly stated it, but Jesse knows they’re worried about him. Just through looks, touches, _I’m here if you need me_ , he’s sure every one of them has said at some point in the week since the attack. It’s not because he’s openly mourned in front of them, it’s because he _hasn’t_.

Jesse hasn’t mourned, not really. He, of course, knows what’s happened, that Hanzo isn't coming back. He’s come close, had bouts of almost crying, but he hasn’t explicitly stated the words. He can’t. It makes it real, all too hauntingly real. He can’t say the words aloud, in front of anyone, in front of the damned mirror to himself, _the love of my life is dead_ , because it _makes_ it real.

Genji is handling it a little better. Probably because both he and Hanzo had the same self-deprecating humour. Realists, the both of them, knowing death could come and claim them at any moment.

Jesse can see the worry for him in Genji’s eyes, though, even as recent as ten minutes ago when he told Genji to go and get some sleep. Genji hesitated, but Jesse put on his best smile, told him he would be fine, that he would see him in the morning.

Genji’s story isn’t done yet, he’s still got that hopeful look in his eyes, one of a future where they rebuild Overwatch from the ground up. Again.

Thing is... Jesse is absolutely certain that his story _is_ done.

His eyes shift to the wreath again, at the once vibrant pink roses. Hanzo had an affinity for the softer colour, said it reminded him of home. They wore matching pink rose boutonnière on their wedding day, and whenever either of them saw a bouquet in town, they would buy them to brighten up their quarters.

The roses now, in that wreath, are a sickly pink, the stems soft and pliable. Jesse’s sure he could simply breathe in its general direction and the petals would fall off. He wonders how long they’ve got, how long till it decomposes and he has to throw it out. He can’t help it then, letting his morbid curiosity take over, wondering about Hanzo in the ground, inside that box.

The scary thing is, he _knows_ how long it takes until there’s nothing but bones. But he closes the door on that thought as quickly as he can.

Hanzo wanted a traditional burial. Back home, he’d told Jesse, to be with his family, his mother and father. Jesse, of course, agreed to it. He had to honour his love’s wishes. They discussed what might happen if Jesse went first. Cremated, he told Hanzo, ashes scattered at home in New Mexico. He’s not sure if he wants that now. Hanzo told him he could be buried in the cemetery, now that they were married.

 _We are family,_ Hanzo said.

They _were_ family.  

He shouldn’t have such thoughts. Just because Hanzo is gone doesn’t make them _not_ family anymore. What they had, albeit short, much shorter than Jesse would have liked, was good. Much better than he could have asked for, if he’s being completely honest. Jesse didn’t expect to live into his mid-forties. Not as a fearless, adrenaline junkie addicted kid in Deadlock. Not as a bloodthirsty adult in Blackwatch. Not as a lone wolf in the years after.

It was after that changed everything. Jesse doesn’t believe in soulmates, but Hanzo came as close as they get. _You two are m_ _ade for each other_ , everyone used to say.  

Jesse feels the bubble of sorrow in his chest, pushing, _forcing_ it’s way up and he presses his hand to his mouth in a futile attempt to stop it. He sobs, his whole body heaves, and he squeezes his eyes shut, holding back that wave too.

After a long moment, when he can no longer feel that tightness in his chest, he opens his eyes and pulls his hand away cautiously. He gives himself a minute to collect himself, now that his body isn’t going to turn on him, and takes a breath, inhaling and exhaling slowly, pouring himself more sake.

“I don’t think I can make it through this life without you,” he murmurs, saying it without really thinking, placing the carton down. He stares at it, sitting on that intrusive thought. _Can_ he go back to a life without Hanzo in it? Back to being a lone wolf, after spending so long with someone at his back?

He picks up Hanzo’s hair ribbon, wrapping it tightly around his hand and bringing it up to his face, breathing in his smell. In times like these, Hanzo would keep him grounded.

It’s not the first time he’s had to go through this, these intrusive thoughts, just wondering how he’ll be able to live. Losing Gabe, even after knowing what Gabe had become, that rotting, decomposing _thing_ under that mask, was hard. Probably the hardest thing he’d ever experienced up until a week ago.

Through that, that pain, he had Hanzo.

Jesse remembers that night; the first night they spent together. Hanzo found him in the rec room, Jesse must have napped at some time, or passed out from the alcohol, but when he woke, his sleep dreamless with the exception of that taunting, guttural laugh, Hanzo was standing over him. He was worried, it was written all over his face. Jesse could feel the ball of anxiety in his stomach, nausea threatening to push forth, his hands shaking uncontrollably.

He doesn’t remember _when_ Hanzo sat down, but he does remember his tight embrace, Hanzo’s body heat, radiating through his clothing, the soothing hand rubbing circles on his back. He can still smell Hanzo's skin, his hair, as he buried his face in the crook of Hanzo’s neck. Jesse broke down, let it all out, and Hanzo held him tight, not letting go until he _knew_ he would be okay.

“Of all the storms I’ve had to weather, you were my guiding light,” Jesse whispers, thumbing over the scarf.

Jesse doesn’t know how long they were there in that room, under the dim lights in the middle of the night, but he does remember not wanting to be out of Hanzo’s arms. Hanzo walked him back to his room, agreed to stay the rest of the night. They didn’t do anything except lie in his bed, but having Hanzo, a warm, comforting presence against his back, holding him tight, it was exactly what he needed.

Closing his eyes when he feels them prickle, Jesse knows he’ll never have that again. No big, strong arms. No comforting warmth. That smile, sweet and private. Kisses; morning, night, before missions, after, in bed.

It’s all gone. Forever.

Jesse screams, picking up the carton and throwing it against the wall. He curses the heavens for their thievery.

“You robbed me of my light!” he bellows to the sake on the wall, dripping down onto the floor.

He wants to throw his glass, flip the table, utterly trash this room just to channel his frustration and anger and resentment. But that won’t bring Hanzo back. It won’t even make him feel better, just guilty that he destroyed this hotel room and the poor staff will have to put it all back together again.

Instead, he brings the scarf up to his nose again, focusing on taking deep breaths, breathing in Hanzo’s smell, to calm down.

This time, he doesn’t stop the tears, he doesn’t hold back the sob. He can’t, he just doesn’t have the strength to fight anymore.

He finally mourns, letting it all out, thinking of every single robbed opportunity—retirement, growing old. The simple things—sweeping his bangs behind his ear, cupping his face. He sinks in his misery.

He closes his eyes when those final last moments flash into his mind, of Hanzo in his arms, gasping for breath. Jesse told him everything will be okay as he swept his hair behind his ear, cupped his face and smiled softly. It was bad, and honestly, it was a miracle Hanzo was _still_ alive, but he didn’t need to worry Hanzo about it.

“I tried to help you fight,” he murmurs. He sees Hanzo’s face, frowning, scared. He knew. “One more minute, just hold on, Han. Angie’ll be here soon.”

He remembers Hanzo’s final breath, how he nodded weakly, using the rest of his strength to grab Jesse’s hand and squeeze it tight.

Jesse brings Hanzo’s hair scarf up to his nose, breathing in deep, an attempt to forget the smell of iron. He opens his eyes, settling on it again, before unwrapping it from his hand and looking at his ring. It’s been six days since Hanzo was taken, and today, on what was supposed to be their fifth wedding anniversary, he’s as clear-minded as he’s been in the week since this happened.

He stands, goes to his bag, pulls out the bottle of pills and the note he wrote six days ago. He places the note on the nightstand, his hat on top. Popping open the bottle, he pours out a small handful, shoves them in his mouth and downs them with the rest of the sake in his glass.

Best case, he’ll finally get some fucking sleep after six sleepless days.

Worst case, he’ll be with Hanzo again.

He lies on the bed, wrapping the scarf around his hand once more. He rests his hand on his chest, over his heart, and takes a deep breath.

Genji will be here in the morning, has a key to his room. They’ll go out for breakfast, and maybe Jesse’s head will be a little clearer.

He closes his eyes.

Light becomes darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> I thought about this story more often than not whenever this song would play. It was different from the story here (namely _who_ died) and I had always planned on writing this, it's been on my list for ages, but last week, this iteration of the story finally twigged. 
> 
> The ending is ambiguous for a reason, namely because I don't know which of the two I would prefer. Fill in your own ending.
> 
> If this story interested you and you like shitposts (and I'm not usually this serious hahaha), come follow me on [Twitter.](https://twitter.com/BeanChillie)


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